Eve's Company
by antychan
Summary: [The Devil Wears Prada] Miranda is trying to work. Andy has other ideas. Fluff, Femslash. MirandaAndy.


NOTE: I detest the formatting on this site. If you want the fic looking its best, head over to my Livejournal. The URL is in my profile.

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Title: Eve's Company (1/1)

Author: Antigone a.k.a. Anty

Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (movie)

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Rating: PG-13

Keywords: Fluff, Femslash.

Summary: Miranda is trying to work. Andy has other ideas.

Disclaimer & Notes: Well, there goes my theory I'm a zero on the Kinsey scale and find all other women's parts gross— said theory was fueled by something the chief power lesbian said to Charlotte York in SATC's "The Cheating Curve", something that made me shudder and abandon my dinner. But… OMG, Miranda!! Sadly enough, she's fictional and not mine. But she should be with Andy; they make the most striking pair. Particularly since Miranda spends many moments in the movie appreciatively checking out Andy('s wardrobe). Thanks to brynnamorgan for the beta.

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**Eve's Company  
© Antigone, October 29th, 2006**

If Miranda Priestley detested one thing, it was being distracted while she was trying to work. Granted, it was no longer a daily occurrence at home, not since (ex-)husband number three had moved out and didn't constantly circle her with that reproachful aura of his. The twins (who, bless them, had never really known how to occupy themselves quietly) were starting the third year at their very traditional, very secluded boarding school (and were still as excited about it as back then, when they'd read _Harry Potter_ one time too many – luckily said point in time had occurred just before Rupert Murdoch should have sent her another check), hence there were no endless giggles and playing catch on the staircase. Almost midnight, and all was quiet.

Still, even Miranda's favorite spot in the armchair in front of the wooden display cabinet, just opposite of the kitchen, didn't work in favor of drowning out the current attentive, persistent presence behind her. Working while Snow White waited for you to finish, upper body bent and head only an inch away from resting on your shoulder simply wasn't effective.

She kept her voice neutral, gaze not moving from the final pages of next month's _Runway_. "While I'm happy your boss gave you a fortnight off after you won the _Mirror_ a Press Club award, keeping others from doing their job is not a worthwhile thing to do with your free time."

"I'm not doing anything," Andy replied innocently.

"Exactly," Miranda answered, voice still as quietly calm as ever, "so instead of wasting more time standing in my personal space, you might as well go upstairs and plan another socially relevant union feature."

She'd still not turned her head, but she could practically see Andy pout. "It's too cold up there."

"Turn on the heating."

More pouting. "And too lonely."

Just when Miranda had made the resolution to not give up, she felt fingers and the sleeves of a silk robe casually dancing over where the sides of her neck met the shoulders. She exhaled audibly and then closed her eyes. "I hate you when you're like that, Andrea."

By now Andy's expression would have turned playful. "No, you don't," she indulgently said.

"I do," Miranda insisted, feeling the fingers slip to her collarbones, "that day Nigel thanked me for his new job at the press conference, when you turned up on my doorstep at this ungodly hour," there was a kiss being pressed to the tender skin above her pulse, "when you said something about never forgetting how impossibly beautiful I looked when I got out of the car that day in Paris just before you left," hands reached the swell of her breasts, "when you told me, very unoriginal for a writer, that I was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen," more kisses all down the side of her throat, "not only literally," and a bite, "I should have told you… to get glasses."

Purring. "They look better on you. And I liked the kiss." The fingers were doing very indecent things now. Miranda recalled having held a pen in her hand at one point, but now both hands were empty, so she should use them to grab Andy's wrists and place her hands firmly back on top of her shoulders.

She did, and they slipped right back.

"Andrea," she said, "I really need to finish checking the last couple of pages."

The voice blowing breath in her ear should not have said something so manipulative and sounded so blameless at the same time. "I'll wear those shoes you like."

Miranda turned her head sharply. Andy was standing next to the armchair, perfectly upright and lips in a smile.

"The—," Miranda cleared her throat and sounded slightly suspicious, "the _Blahnik_ pumps?"

Still smiling. "Hm-hm."

"Black?"

Nod.

"Pointy?"

More nodding.

She narrowed her eyes and gave Andy a piercing look. "Patent leather?"

The smile showed teeth now, which then wickedly bit Andy's lower lip. "Uh-huh."

"Hm." She would at least look like she seriously considered it. Or didn't consider it. She really wasn't sure if she'd referred to working or the bed right then. Then again, she might as well make use of Andy's impressive skills while Andy was in the moo— had the time. Yes. Right.

"I suppose," Miranda carefully said, "since you have spend many an evening in my personal space watching me work and have nowhere to be in the morning, you won't object to checking the final pages for me when I get ready tomorrow."

All kittenish expression left Andy's face and she looked genuinely touched.

Miranda got up and stepped through the open double door. Just out in the hallway, she turned around and gave her rooted-to-the-spot lover an impatient expression. "Well, are you coming?" She shook her head and made her way to the staircase, and after a couple of seconds, she could hear Andy happily trailing after her.

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(Fin.)


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